


What I see in you, I hope you find in me

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mystical Mumbo Jumbo, Precious Peter Parker, Selfless Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, spoilers for Onward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: "I...I don’t know who I’m meant to choose," Peter says, picking up the staff and slowly twirling it between his fingers. "I can’t really remember much about my parents, and choosing just one of them...there’d be so much to say." He sighs, lifting one hand to rub under his nose. "But my Uncle Ben, he - do you think he’d know? That this is, like…" Peter laughs breathlessly. "I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.""I hear you, kid."OrWhen given the opportunity to bring someone back to life for only a few moments, Tony and Peter disagree over who should have that chance.
Relationships: Edwin Jarvis & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 101
Kudos: 633





	What I see in you, I hope you find in me

**Author's Note:**

> Massive writing slump lately, but I saw Onward over the weekend and this idea wouldn't let go. 
> 
> Warning: This is inspired by events that take place in the movie so should you wish to avoid spoilers, however indirect, you may wish to not read. I listened to two of the tracks from the soundtrack, 'Share My Life with Him' and 'Dad' on repeat whilst writing this, highly recommend for added feels. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

"Sooooo what are we looking for again?"

"A wizard’s staff. God, I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth."

"No, I mean, like, are we talking about a Gandalf kinda wizard staff? Or does it look like the thing that Jafar uses in Aladdin? You know, basically a pimp stick with a snake head."

Tony stops rooting around inside a gigantic treasure chest and slowly turns to look at Peter. Even without the sight of Tony’s actual face, the movement is enough to make Peter’s eyes go a little wide before he laughs awkwardly. 

"Hey, I’m just trying to be thorough."

"Just - if you find a big stick, bring it to me, okay?"

"Gotcha."

Tony watches Peter leap into the air and swing away, the steady _thwip!_ of his webs echoing through the cave they’re currently in. It’s a rather cliche set up with gigantic fire torches on the walls and mountains of gold spilling out of creaky wooden chests. There’s even arches of ancient script carved high up near the ceilings. 

"I bet it’s some gory description of what happens if we take something from here," Peter had said as they entered the cave. "Like that scene in that Indiana Jones movie where he takes the little golden head and that big boulder rolls after him."

There’s no sign of any big boulders, or little golden heads for that matter, but Tony’s heart stops and starts about fifteen times in the space of three seconds when Peter’s voice suddenly crackles over the comm a little while later, loudly declaring, "I think I found it, Mister Stark!"

He meets Peter halfway down a wide tunnel full of jewels and yet more fire torches, holding his hands out to examine the impressively large wooden staff that he’s carrying. A flame red gem sits nestled between the spokes at one end and Tony carefully pokes it with a finger, the metal of his suit making a soft clinking sound against it. 

"You think that’s what makes the magic?"

"Yeah," Tony grumbles, "’cause pretty looking stones powering things is all we need."

Peter waves a handful of dusty scrolls at him. "I found these too - I think they’re spells!"

Tony tucks the staff under his arm. "Don’t get any funny ideas, kid. C’mon, let’s get this thing back to Doctor Douchebag so we can go home."

They head back to the entrance of the cave, right where the portal they came through is waiting, sparks flying from the edges as it pulses with energy. 

"Look at him," Tony grumbles, catching a glimpse of Strange on the other side, "sitting there while we do all the grunt work."

"I thought we did this because you owed him a favour."

Tony waves his hand irritably. "Semantics."

"Oh, good," Strange greets them as they step through into the Sanctum, not looking up from the ancient looking book he’s reading, "you found it."

"Yep. Means we’re square now," Tony says, tossing the staff onto the desk, making Strange look up sharply. "Didn’t think a powerful sorcerer like you would need something as gimmicky as an oversized magic wand,'' he adds, the nanoparticles within his mask retracting to reveal his smirk. 

Strange doesn’t rise to the bait, merely rolls his eyes and moves the book aside in favour of the staff, as well as the collection of scrolls Peter places there with extreme delicacy. "Consider us indeed squared. Though should you or any of your teammates crash through my roof again - "

"I already told you, it wasn’t the Hulk’s fault - "

"Be that as it may - "

"And anyway, what kind of wizard can’t fix a hole in the roof - "

"I’m warning you, Stark - "

"Holy _shit."_

The awed curse pulls both men out of their bickering and draws their attention to where Peter, now sans mask, is gaping open mouthed at one of the scrolls. Sensing their gazes on him, Peter quickly turns the scroll round and points to the faded pictures and words that reside on the yellowed paper. 

"Is this - is this a spell that brings people back to life?"

Strange extracts the scroll out of Peter’s grasp, making a point of smoothing out the crinkles left behind, and peers at it. 

"It’s a visitation spell. It brings back a person for a very short amount of time. It’s primarily used by people with regrets, unfinished business, that sort of thing," Strange explains in an almost bored tone, rolling up the scroll and handing it back to Peter. "Pretty simple spell, by all accounts."

Peter takes it, then raises his other hand like he’s in class. "Uh, simple enough that even someone who isn’t a wizard can perform it?"

Strange pulls a somewhat agreeable face. "It’s not commonly done but I don’t see why not."

There’s a palpable excitement beaming from Peter as he says to Tony, "Mister Stark, can we?"

"Kid - "

"This is insane. Oh man, we can do _actual magic."_

"I hate magic."

"No you don’t. Nobody hates magic."

Tony folds his arms. "I do when it involves sanctimonious guys in capes."

"Oh, please," Strange laughs dryly. "You’re criticizing my fashion choices when you go out dressed like a can of soda every day?’’

Peter’s excited flapping of the scroll by Tony’s face halts his retort. He catches Peter by the wrist to hold him steady and squints at the faint writing. 

"For this short moment in time, let it be," he reads aloud, "hear my words and come back to me." He lets out a derisive snort. "That’s it? No Abra Kadabra? No Expelliarmus? See, told you, kid, magic sucks."

Peter steps back with a pout and looks at Strange as the man examines the staff again. 

"How does it work?"

"Whoever is holding the staff at the moment of casting is who will control what happens. If Peter holds it, then whoever he wants to bring back will appear," Strange gestures to Tony, "and vice versa." He takes a closer look at the softly pulsing gem at the top of the staff. "But by the looks of it, the energy of this gem has been draining for a while. You don’t have long to make use of it, whichever one of you decides to do so."

Tony rolls his eyes. "What, like a battery? Are you kidding? What kind of magical gem runs out of power?"

"Wait," Peter pipes up, "what do you mean, whichever one of us?" He looks down at the staff. "Is there...is there not enough for us to both use it?"

Strange shakes his head and the look Peter trains on Tony is something close to distraught. 

"Damn con, all of it," Tony growls, giving Strange a dark glare. 

"Why don’t you let me worry about the inner workings of the mystic arts, hm? You have a decision to make." Strange looks at them both, something less sharp and almost sympathetic in his otherwise serious expression. "I’ll give you some privacy."

"Bet you can understand why I hate magic now, huh?" Tony jests as Strange leaves the room, feeling oddly off kilter when Peter doesn’t even smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. 

Tony hates moments like this; moments where he feels unsure and powerless, where Peter feels too far away even when he’s standing right there. With the slump of his shoulders, the downturn curve of his mouth and the floppy mess of his hair, he looks so young and sad that it physically hurts Tony, as sharp and vicious as any puncture wound or broken bone. 

Long gone are the days where he didn’t consider himself responsible, didn’t _want_ to be responsible for almost any part of Peter’s life. It’s almost like an instinctive thing now, this need he has to do whatever he can to make things better. 

"You know this a no brainer, right, Pete?" Tony says, turning his voice as vibrant and bouncy as he can, smiling when Peter looks up at him. "This is all you, so I hope you and Ted have been keeping up with your Harry Potter roleplaying, ‘cause now’s the time to shine."

"Mister Stark?"

"It’s a bit bigger than one of those plastic wands, I grant you, but - "

"Mister Stark."

"Yeah?"

"Who...who would you choose?"

Tony’s first response, an almost automatic one, is to say his mother. Since the day she died, he’s rehearsed so many unspoken lines in his head, let the what if’s consume him in his darker moments, dreamed about what he would do if he ever had the chance to see her again. 

But another face appears in his mind, the memory of the person suddenly blooming in his chest and wrapping squeezing tendrils around his heart. 

"Jarvis."

Peter cocks his head, confused, and then his expression lifts in understanding. "Oh! Oh, you mean, like, the real Jarvis."

"Yeah," Tony nods, "the real Jarvis."

"I thought...I thought maybe you’d choose your mom."

"Yeah," Tony says again, glancing away to stare at the floor. "So did I."

"What, um, I mean, you’ve never told me what…"

"What happened to Jarvis?" Tony finishes, smiling grimly. "Heart attack when I was twenty five. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in about three weeks at that point. Too busy partying and living up to the Merchant of Death title the world had decided to bestow upon me," he scoffs, feeling a heat start to prickle at the back of his throat. "It was Peggy, Peggy Carter, that called to tell me that he’d died. Don’t ever let a British person give you bad news, kid. Makes everything sound twice as depressing."

He tries to laugh but it falls flat, the memory of that day hitting him heavily. Peggy’s voice echoing in his head long after she’d hung up; a visiting Rhodey’s bewildered and slightly terrified reaction as Tony, already half cut, raced around his house trying to find a set of car keys before eventually collapsing with grief in his best friend’s arms, the reality of the loss yanking choked cries out of his chest for what seemed like hours on end. 

"So you never got to say goodbye?" Peter asks, words soft with an understanding that Tony wishes he didn’t have. 

Tony shakes his head in response. 

"I...I don’t know who I’m meant to choose," Peter says, picking up the staff and slowly twirling it between his fingers. "I can’t really remember much about my parents, and choosing just _one_ of them...there’d be so much to say." He sighs, lifting one hand to rub under his nose. "But my Uncle Ben, he - do you think he’d know? That this is, like…" Peter laughs breathlessly. "I don’t even know what I’m trying to say."

"I hear you, kid."

And Tony does. It doesn’t make sense. It’s so vastly big, what this means, that it’s practically incomprehensible. It plays on that lingering daydream that comes after a loss; the one that sits on wishes of having just one more day, just five more minutes, just one more chance. To try and fathom the reality of that possibility is too much, but it’s right here, right in Peter’s hands. 

Except now, Peter is pushing the staff towards Tony. 

"You should - I want you to do it."

"What? Pete, no," Tony shoves the staff back, "hell no. No way. You wanna see your uncle, right? Or one of your parents. You deserve more time with them, kid. Think of this as the universe’s really shitty way of doing a little something to make up for all the crap it’s thrown at you."

"It’s not been all bad," Peter says with a small smile. "I have May, Ned and MJ. I’m a superhero and I get to hang out with Tony Stark nearly every weekend. It could be so much worse."

But it could have been more, Tony thinks sadly. It could have been a life where both parents stood proudly at Peter’s side for all the moments they should have seen; a life where his uncle didn’t bleed out and die from a gunshot wound in the middle of the street or where a bite from a radioactive spider didn’t compel him to risk his life every day. 

Then Tony thinks of his own life, all the mistakes and regrets, all the things he wishes he hadn’t done or had done better. In some other reality, his parents would have loved and cared for him in the way parents are supposed to, he wouldn’t have been packed off to college at fifteen and he might not have spent most of his twenties in a whiskey-induced haze surrounded by nameless women and relentless paparazzi. 

But then maybe he wouldn’t have built Dum-E, met Rhodey, started on a path that would ultimately lead him to become Iron Man. 

Maybe Jarvis wouldn’t have been as involved in his life, a thought which makes Tony feel cold and barren inside. 

Without Jarvis, would Tony have had it in him to become the man that fell in love with Pepper? The man that flew into a wormhole above New York to stop a nuke from killing them all? The man that would end up choosing to stay instead of running from being involved with someone like Peter? 

Would he know how to love the kid if it weren’t for Jarvis showing him what that meant in the first place?

The staff bumps into his chest and Peter is still looking at him, softly smiling and so heartachingly selfless. 

"Please, Mister Stark. I want you to do this. You can say goodbye to Jarvis properly."

"Peter…"

"Please?"

Tony shakes his head. "Sorry, Underoos." He gently but firmly pushes the staff away. "I’m gonna have to put my foot down on this one."

He tries to ignore the way his heart shudders at how unhappy Peter looks. "C’mere, kid," he says, tucking an arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulling him in close. "I can’t take this opportunity away from you, bud. Not when I know how much you miss your uncle."

"You miss people too."

"Yeah, well. You, Rhodey and Pepper sorta make up for a lot of that."

Peter shifts on the balls of his feet, lowering the staff down onto the floor so he can lean properly against Tony’s side. 

"I’m glad I’ve got you, Mister Stark," Peter whispers, scrubbing a fist under his eye as Tony pulls him even closer, wrapping both arms around him this time. "I’m real lucky that I do."

The words are muffled against Tony’s neck, just below the cold press of Peter’s nose into his skin, but Tony hears them anyway. 

"I’m the lucky one, bud," he says gruffly. "Don’t think there’s many guys who get lucky enough to have a kid that is equal parts awesome and a pain in the ass."

"Don’t forget supremely talented and incredibly smart."

"Right, right. Wow, I forgot how humble you are."

Peter laughs as he pulls away. "I learnt from the best." He picks the staff up from the floor and looks at it thoughtfully for a moment. "...Okay, you win."

"Atta boy."

"Oh, wait, I need the spell, can you - " he shoves the staff into Tony’s hands and hurries over to grab the scroll from the pile on the desk. As he shuffles them around, Tony twirls the staff in his hands, peering curiously at the gem as it sparkles. 

He only notices that Peter is whispering something when it’s too late. 

" - hear my words and come back to me."

"Peter, no!"

The staff bursts into life, bright light flying out of the gem and the wood vibrating with such ferocity that Tony has to hold on tight, bringing the end down to the ground and pushing his weight into it as it shakes. 

He glances at Peter, checking to make sure he’s okay, which he is, but he’s slowly backing away, mouth open wide as he gawks at something that Tony can’t see. 

Then it all stops, the staff falling from Tony’s hands with a clatter on the marble floor, the gem empty of colour and tainted black around the edges. 

And Edwin Jarvis is standing right in front of him. 

Impeccably dressed, dark haired and tall, he looks exactly as Tony remembers. 

Jarvis’ head turns in rapid bewilderment before he stops to peer at Tony, mouth thin and eyes narrow with suspicion. It’s a rather formidable expression, one that Tony can’t recall ever being on the receiving end of before.

For Tony, it was always gentle gazes, warm smiles and a quiet kind of affection that always followed the harshness of Howard’s words and the sting of his indifference. 

A soft, "Hi, J," breaks the silence and Jarvis gasps, face deepening into a frown even as his eyes widen, a sheen of _something_ turning them glossy. His mouth opens, closes again and he brings a palm up to cover it, fingers tapping against his cheek, his gaze never leaving Tony’s face. 

"Master Tony," he eventually says, and Tony’s breath snags on a little laugh at the sound of the familiar English accent, proper and precise. "You, you - " Jarvis pauses, his eyes doing a full up and down sweep. "What on earth are you wearing?"

Tony glances down at himself and gives his chest plate an awkward pat as he shrugs. "Uh, fashion trend, all the rage these days."

"These days…" Jarvis repeats slowly. "Right. Right. And when exactly...No, never mind." He takes a deep breath, eyebrows leaping up to his hairline. "It is really you, though?"

"It’s me," Tony nods. "Made it past forty, can you believe it?"

"Of course I can," Jarvis scoffs, sounding incredulous that Tony would suggest otherwise. "I always said that you would.

"Yeah," Tony says softly, "yeah, you did."

A long moment pauses in which they just stare at each other, eyes taking in every detail, every change, every familiarity.

Tony eventually clears his throat. “I never got to say goodbye to you. I was selfish, a wreck, and I should’ve been around more, visited more."

"You were a young man living your life," Jarvis says kindly. "Worryingly so, there’s no denying that, but I never begrudged you in any way."

"I want...I want you to know that I changed," Tony blurts out, suddenly overwhelmingly desperate for this to be said. "I got better, I help people, I didn’t completely screw up like Howard said I would. I mean, there were definitely some massive disasters but I broke the cycle."

"The cycle?"

"Mm."

Jarvis sighs, regarding Tony sadly. "Your father was a complicated and, if I may be so bold, broken man. And I loved him dearly, despite his many enduring faults. But you…"

Jarvis’ hand briefly settles on Tony’s cheek, and it’s a lifetime ago, and there are tears falling down little Tony’s cheeks as a younger Jarvis murmurs gentle words of comfort to him after a bad dream. 

"There was no greater joy in my life than getting to be a part of yours."

Tony’s mind instantly leaps to Peter and he can’t help but glance over to where the kid is standing, tucked up against the wall, fiddling with what looks like an ancient carpet hanging on the wall, something Strange would no doubt scold him for if he was in the room. 

Jarvis looks too and Tony _feels_ the pride in the smile that appears on his face. 

"Is that your son?"

"My kid, yeah, my - Peter. His name’s Peter."

"Peter," Jarvis repeats, nodding his head. 

Polite as he is, even Peter can’t ignore the mention of his own name and lifts his gaze, his eyes darting curiously between the two of them, a bashful smile lifting his cheeks. Tony gives a whispery laugh at the sight. 

"I believe I always said you were capable of being a good man, a great man," Jarvis says, and there’s fresh tears shining in his eyes again, "and it appears as though I was right."

"Because of him," Tony blurts out. "So much of it is because of him. And you. You taught me how to be someone better, but I didn’t realise until it was too late. I should have - "

"Tony," Jarvis interrupts, the lack of title or status stunning Tony into silence, "whatever unnecessary regrets you might have been holding onto all this time, please let them go. I only need to see how that young man over there is looking at you to know everything I need to."

Tony looks over at Peter again and, sure enough, Peter is looking right back at him, and there’s no denying the open glow of bright adoration on his face. 

"Well, I think I’d best be off."

"What?" Tony’s head snaps back towards Jarvis, stomach plummeting as he notices the slightly transparent hue to the man’s appearance now. "But - "

"It’s quite alright," Jarvis promises. "Nothing left to hold on to now or worry yourself over anymore." His chin wobbles ever so slightly even as he sniffs stoically. "You know how I’ve always loathed goodbyes, Sir, so perhaps we might simply pretend that this is anything but?"

Despite the tears now stinging his own eyes, Tony can’t help but grin at that. "Sure."

"Thank you."

"No," Tony shakes his head, "thank you. For everything."

Jarvis’ smile shimmers, his essence twinkling like starlight as it fades. "If you need nothing else, I shall see you in the morning."

"Yeah. Goodnight, J."

A final glimpse of familiar eyes crinkling with tearful pride and then he’s gone, leaving no trace behind. Tony allows himself one sharp intake of breath, a moment of surrender to the gnawing ache in his chest and in his throat, and then turns to look at Peter as he quietly approaches. 

"Uh, so on a scale of one to ten," Peter hunches his shoulders sheepishly, "how mad are you?"

Tony’s answer is to deactivate the suit and pull Peter into a hug, fierce and tight with one hand buried in the kid’s hair and his other arm wrapped solidly around Peter’s shoulders. Peter latches on with equal strength and they stand there silently, no words needed to understand what they’re both thinking. 

But Peter eventually says it anyway, a shy yet strong whisper into Tony’s shoulder. "Love you."

Tony kisses Peter on the forehead, smiling when curls tickle his nose. "Ditto, you little shit."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - kudos and kind comments appreciated <3


End file.
